Bertie Bott's and Honest Thoughts
by LunaPuff
Summary: Luna and Voldemort are transported to a room that repels magic. Stuck with each other and with no way out, they begin to learn each other and develop feelings that they believed they could never feel for the other person.
1. Journey to the Center of a Trap

In the countryside of Tanum, a small town in the southern area of Sweden, Luna Lovegood picked her way through a field in search of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks— or, more specifically, Snorkack tracks. Luna's father, Xenophilius, told her that Snorkack tracks were even rarer than the Snorkacks themselves, because the creatures were so careful of where they stepped. Luna stared intently at the ground, hoping that a Snorkack paw print would appear. It was the summer before Luna's final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and she was on her annual excursion to search for the elusive— and not entirely believed in— Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. As the sun set over the horizon, Luna's long blonde hair, along with the tall, yellowing grass, looked red as the receding rays reflected off them.

"I must find a track before the sun disappears; I really don't know if I'll be able to locate this particular area again tomorrow. The world is always turning and the places in it are always shifting," Luna said to herself, lowering to her knees and moving her face close to the ground so that she could better examine the soft earth. Dirt smudged the fabric of her robes, but Luna was too engrossed in her examination to care. As she crawled forward to inspect another section of the dirt, she spotted something small and dark partially hidden in the tall grass.

"I wonder what this is. Maybe it's the shell of a Crampling! Snorkacks do love to eat them and the Crampling young love this area," Luna wondered aloud. However, as she grabbed the object, she realized that it was an empty Bertie Bott's Every-Flavor Beans bag a split second before she felt something hook behind her navel, pulling her off the ground and hurtling her through the air.

* * *

Meanwhile, in a dark forest in Albania, Lord Voldemort sat in a chair by the fireplace of the cottage he frequented. Nagini curled up on the floor in front of the chair in order to feel the warmth of the fire. Voldemort was pondering his next move in his plan to control the wizarding world.

He knew that many witches and wizards did not approve of his plan, but in time they would all see that it was for the best. They obviously did not know how to take care of their world, so Voldemort would have to do it for them. For too long, wizards had been under the impression that they must hide from the Muggles in order to protect their magic; this was not true. Muggles were the ones who should be hiding, and wizards should be able to do as they pleased without fear of being discovered. It is only right that the most powerful beings are rulers, and the weaker beings should serve those who are stronger than they are.

"Runcorn," Voldemort called, his high, cold voice sending shivers down the Death Eater's spine, "bring my dinner."

The tall wizard gave a swift nod, turned, and hurried into the kitchen to prepare the meal. Voldemort returned to his thoughts, focusing on the next tasks he should assign to the Death Eaters who were at the cottage with him. The Carrows were gathering firewood in the south part of the forest, while Bellatrix was cleaning his robes. She always seemed so _pleased _to follow his orders; there was a strange gleam in her eyes whenever she agreed to something that unnerved Voldemort and strangely made him want to take a shower. The Malfoys were in the kitchen, preparing dinner for the rest of his followers. Ready to embark on his solo journey, he decided that his Death Eaters should return to Malfoy Manor while he searched for the wandmaker, Gregorovitch. In order to defeat Harry Potter once and for all, he needed the Elder Wand; and in order to attain the wand, Voldemort needed to find Gregorovitch.

Minutes later, Runcorn returned to the sitting room, carrying a tray. Voldemort gave little notice of Runcorn's entrance, so the Death Eater placed the tray on the side table next to Voldemort's chair and returned to his spot at the back of the living room. Voldemort pulled himself out of his mind and turned toward the tray.

The baked ham and mashed potatoes, with peas, carrots, and cauliflower, did not interest Voldemort much; he had lost the ability to taste food years ago. It was merely a way to sustain him; the elf-made wine held slightly more interest for him, because its blood-red coloring reminded him of power. It was ironic, really, that such a weak creature produced this powerful-looking drink.

Voldemort reached for the goblet, but as his hand closed around the metal, he realized his mistake— a foolish one that could have been easily avoided, had he not put any amount of trust in another. His hand felt as though fused to the goblet, and something jerked at his navel; his body left the chair, and with a roar of anger, Voldemort soared hand-first into space.


	2. Panic Dungeon

His feet slammed into cold stone and he almost lost his balance. He dropped the goblet, the clanking sound reverberating through the small room, and looked at his surroundings.

The room comprised only grey stone, like a dungeon. There were no windows, no doors, no— anything, really. The ceiling was a mass of large grey bricks, like the floor and walls, but there seemed to be small holes in it where light was seeping through. There were twenty or thirty holes in all, each one projecting a beam of light onto the floor, which allowed Voldemort to see in the room, as though the world above were being bathed in sunlight. The air that descended from above the ceiling was warm and dry, almost desert-like. There was a single curtain in a corner of the room; when Voldemort pulled it aside, it revealed a tiny bathroom. As Voldemort looked about the room once more, his eyes spotted a figure on the floor. It was a human girl, spread out on the floor, eyes closed. Voldemort could not figure out why she did so, for there seemed to be no rational explanation for her behavior. Her mass of blonde hair was spread above her head, and some of the rays of light landed directly on the strands.

"Girl," Voldemort said, his cold voice dominating the space that enclosed him, "where are we? Tell me."

The girl opened her eyes, directing the large, silvery-blue orbs at Voldemort. "I'm not sure, really," she said, sitting up and stretching her arms over her head, "all I know about this place is that there's no way out, as far as I can tell. I tried to leave in every magical and non-magical way I could think of, but I couldn't escape. You're more than welcome to give it a go, yourself, if you would like. After all, aren't you the most powerful wizard there ever was?"

Voldemort would have struck her down if she had said all of this with even a hint of sarcasm, but she merely stated it as fact. At least he now knew that she was a witch, he could not stand being in a room with a Muggle unless he was torturing it. "You're right; I _am _the most powerful wizard in existence. And I _can_ get myself out of this."

Voldemort raised his wand, shouting _Bombarda! _in his mind, but nothing happened. He tried _Ascendio, Confringo, _and _Reducto_, as well, but his wand did not send off a single spark. He also tried Apparating, but he looked as though he were trying out for the ballet rather than escaping. He grabbed his goblet, hoping the Portkey would send him back, but the room seemed to quash all magical attempts. Voldemort tried for hours, never accepting that his magic could be thwarted.

Finally exhausted, Voldemort sat on the floor by the wall opposite the girl. "It seems… impossible. I can't believe this."

"Then don't," the girl replied vaguely. "Don't believe that it's impossible, because there _is_ a way out. We just haven't found it. It's just a puzzle, more difficult than I've had to deal with. If we can get in here, we can get out; it's just common sense."

Voldemort looked at the girl, studying her, trying to figure out who she was. He scrutinized her for hours, as she seemed to be deep in thought, about what, he did not know. But the night continued on in the same fashion, until the girl curled up and fell asleep. Voldemort still studied her, even as she dreamed her dreams, puzzling over the enigma that was placed before him.


	3. Truthfully Blonde

When Luna awoke the next morning, the sun had yet to rise; Voldemort, however, already had. Luna worked at her stiff muscles, stretching until she heard the satisfactory _crack_ of her spine. Then she turned to the man before her, gave him a small smile, and stood. The light in the room was very dim, but the moonlight was strong enough that it reached the inner walls of the chamber. Luna could make out shapes in the dark, and she knew that the large shadow on the opposite wall was Voldemort.

Her nose was telling her that there had been a visitor in the night; she could smell food coming from the far left corner of the dwelling. She navigated towards the sustenance, careful not to step on anything— especially not any body part that was connected to Voldemort. When she reached the source of the smells, she was delighted to find an assortment of fruits, vegetables, meats, and cheeses. A jug of water sat to the left of all of the food and two goblets had been placed before the jug.

Luna helped herself to some grapes, ham, and asparagus. Pouring herself a gobletful of water, she moved back to her spot on the opposite wall and began to eat. As she enjoyed her breakfast, Voldemort watched her warily. He was hungry, of course, but he did not dare touch any of the food or drink until he was certain he would not be poisoned. The girl was foolish for accepting the food so eagerly; after all, she had no way of knowing what extra ingredients were inserted into the food. Her stupidity was Voldemort's gain, however, because she had unknowingly become his taste-tester. He would wait a few days to eat, making sure that she stayed alive and well before he laid a finger on any of the meal. If, after that time, she had survived, he would begin to feed.

"How did you get here?" Luna asked suddenly, her gaze lifting from the grapes and slowly making its way towards Voldemort. "I came by Portkey; it was a Bertie Bott's bag."

Voldemort was surprised; he did not expect the girl to begin speaking to him so suddenly, and conversationally, as well. He did not answer her, but instead looked away from her as though he were ignoring her very presence. Unperturbed, Luna continued speaking.

"I'm Luna, in case you were wondering. You're the Dark Lord, of course. We're told in the wizarding world not to say your name. I don't mind not saying it; to be honest, I don't think it's that great of a name anyway. Clever, though, how you rearranged the letters of your original name." Her voice had a dream-like quality, as though she were speaking to someone inside her head rather than the wizard sitting before her.

Luna continued talking all day, about her father, her mother's accident, Harry and her other friends at school, and about how many people consider her to be too eccentric for their tastes. Voldemort never looked at her, but he listened to every word. He was determined, as was his nature, to learn as much as possible about the girl. As long as she continued to spill her secrets, Voldemort would be able to find out exactly how she operated. Finally, her throat became sore from all of the talking, so she ceased her monologue and resumed eating the food in the corner.

"Do you always talk that much?" Voldemort asked, sparing Luna a glance.

"Only when no one else has something to say," Luna replied with a half-smile, as though she were enjoying a private joke to which she alone knew the punch line.

Voldemort catalogued the information in his mind; he had grown suspicious of her honesty, because he was so used to dealing with people who lied and tried to hide information from him. To know that she was a genuinely honest person comforted him as much as it unnerved him.

Telling Voldemort all of that information had felt a little strange, considering who she was talking to, but everything she had said was true; her honesty included the fact that she talked whenever someone else did not want to. She rationalized that she would have told him all of this eventually, and saying all of it on the first day was helpful. If she could tell him everything about herself first, maybe he would share some of the details of his life. He was the most intriguing person she had heard of, apart from the man who first introduced her father to the idea of the nargles. Being able to learn about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would be an amazing way to discover why he was so determined to perform acts of unspeakable evil.

Luna curled up on the floor, using her robes as a pillow. She fell asleep quickly, easily, as though her imprisonment were nothing but a vacation. Voldemort stayed awake a few hours longer, making sure that he would not be susceptible to attack. Long ago he had discovered how to survive on a couple hours of sleep per night, enabling him to minimize the vulnerability that slumber presents.

Voldemort pondered the girl that lay before him. When he thought her an enigma, he had judged far too quickly; she was an enigma, wrapped in a puzzle, topped with a heaping scoop of mystery. He understood why students found her strange— she was brilliant, but not in the traditional sense. The maturity that she gained at such a young age was not seen very often, especially in the wizarding world. She was a worthy opponent, not to Voldemort, of course, but to some of his more skilled followers. He would have to keep a close watch over her, making sure that she did not strike when he was unprepared. Content with his observation, Voldemort leaned his head against the wall and sunk into a light sleep.


	4. V for Veritaserum

The next few days continued in the same fashion as the first; Luna talked and ate, Voldemort secretly took in every bit of information while pretending not to notice the girl, and they continued with the same sleeping habits. Finally, after Luna had told Voldemort every detail about herself, and had survived the food and drink, Voldemort allowed himself to feast. He ate the meats, the fruits, and the vegetables, not tasting any of it, and drank deeply from a water-filled goblet.

Stuffed to capacity, he sat against the wall and reveled in the fullness of his stomach. Luna appeared to be deep in thought, a faraway look in her eyes that spoke of countless notions zooming through her brain. Suddenly her eyes moved to look at Voldemort's face, and her voice drifted dreamily across the room as she said, "What was your childhood like?"

"My mother died, too," Voldemort blurted out suddenly, with no real reason or rationality. A shocked look crossed his face before he quickly masked it. Yet he felt the need to tell Luna about his mother's death. He also wanted to tell her about how he had felt so unwanted when he realized that his father was still alive. He wanted to tell her about the promise he made to himself on that fateful day in the orphanage when Dumbledore told him that he was special. He had promised never to let anyone make him feel inferior, because he was special and he deserved to be wanted, feared, and admired by everyone around him.

Realizing what had happened, and promising that he would never drink from a goblet that he himself did not prepare, Voldemort leapt to his feet. Veritaserum was a tricky potion, and that he had no ability of tasting its presence hindered him in a way that he was not prepared to handle. Yet, try as he did, Voldemort could not stop the words from spilling from him.

"She was a witch, you see, but she was weak. Her unrequited love for a Muggle weakened her to the point where she was practically Muggle herself. Then she got pregnant with me, and he ran off. She was so weak that she couldn't even stay alive for her own son. She was too selfish to fight for her life, because living meant having to live with the rejection. But I lived, and I lived with rejection from both of them. That's why I'm so strong, because I survived rejection."

For over fifty years, Voldemort had kept that secret inside. He made sure that no one knew why he had to become so strong, why he had to conquer so much. Of course, fate ruled that he tell it to a girl whom he had met only a few days ago, under the influence of a Truth Serum, in a small dungeon room. He spoke of all of the things he did not want to tell her, but felt he needed to or he would die. For hours he spoke, as the sun descended and darkness enveloped the room, and still he had more to say. His voice tapered to silence as the potion wore off, and when he was finished, he looked at Luna once more.

Throughout Voldemort's confession, Luna remained pensive. She heard every word that he said, taking it all in and processing it. She could not believe that he had to go through his whole life believing that he was not wanted. It made sense as to why he had so much hatred in his heart, why it was so difficult for him to battle Harry: Voldemort had never known love. Harry, who had also lived without his parents, was surrounded by love— smothered by it, really. Voldemort, however, had no love in his heart. Luna wanted to say something to him, anything to let him know that she understood, but she knew it was not the right time for heartfelt sympathy. If Voldemort did not know love, then he certainly knew no sympathy.

In the end, Luna just nodded her head, moving on to the next thought in her mind. She thought of her father, and what he must be feeling as he tried to locate her whereabouts. He would be so worried, probably telling the Ministry that she was kidnapped. They would not believe him, not crazy old Xeno. Luna was perfectly fine with people believing that she was off her rocker, because they didn't understand her; she worried about her father and the sadness that emanated from him whenever someone laughed in his face.

Deciding that her thoughts could wait until morning, Luna lay down on her robes and curled her feet under herself. She drifted into sleep, dreaming of a little boy who looked into a window display. Instead of toys, however, the store sold loving parents. The boy's pockets were empty, and he was unable to take a parent home.


	5. The Room with the Movie Camera

Voldemort awoke to find that light had not yet begun to seep into the room. He could make out the figure of the girl, Luna, sprawled on the floor on the opposite side of the room, and knew that she slept without fear or anxiety. Thinking over everything Luna had told him about her, he concluded that she was not crazy as everyone thought she was; her ideas about magical creatures that no one believed existed were quite peculiar, but the rest of her personality was perfectly justifiable.

The witches and wizards who called her "Loony" were too close-minded to realize that cutting through the nonsense of lies was the best way to live. Voldemort prided himself on finding the truth in people who lied to him. He was an accomplished Legilimens because the truth was essential for his plan to succeed. She had a sad childhood, with her mother's death, but she still had love from her eccentric father.

Luna stirred, turning over and opening her large eyes. Voldemort knew those eyes held many deep emotions, even though she always seemed to float effortlessly through life. He felt a strange connection to her, as though she could understand why he became the person he was. Telling her everything about his past seemed almost normal to Voldemort, even without the aid of the Veritaserum. Trusting another person was weak, of course, and if he were being honest with himself, he would admit that he never would have told her anything without a potion's help; yet Voldemort could not bring himself to regret discussing his childhood with Luna.

He did know that a person would not put Veritaserum in the water goblet for no reason, and that was why he was determined to figure out who placed him in the dungeon-style room and why they did so. The sunlight was bright enough in the room to allow his investigation to go smoothly. Voldemort rose to his feet and began circling the room, looking for anything on the walls that would indicate an outside presence.

Luna stood and moved to the food in the corner to gather her breakfast items. As she popped grapes into her mouth, she surveyed her surroundings and watched as Voldemort moved slowly around the room. His scrutiny of the walls piqued her curiosity, so she asked, "What are you looking for?"

Voldemort answered her without looking away from the wall, "There must be some reason why we're in here, and I'm trying to find some proof that another person was present recently; how else would we get the food and water every morning?"

Luna pondered his revelations for a moment. Then, deciding his theories made sense, she moved to the wall on her left and searched for any evidence of someone else's recent activity in the walls. They searched for about an hour before Voldemort asked, "What is this?"

Luna traveled the length of the room until she was standing next to him, and she inspected the area to which he was pointing. Protruding from the wall was what seemed to be a camera lens, small enough to be overlooked without detection. Luna had heard of these devices before, when her father had described to her the ways that Muggles remembered events.

"It's a video camera," she replied, the words drifting towards Voldemort as though caught in a light breeze. "They're like the regular cameras, but they take many pictures in quick succession so that the many photos look like they're moving. It's the Muggle way to develop a wizarding photo, but these cameras record sound, as well."

Voldemort's fears had been confirmed; someone was indeed spying on the two of them, listening to the many secrets he had spilled to the seemingly innocent girl. He turned swiftly towards Luna and his hand closed around her throat. Slamming her up against the wall, he looked straight into her eyes as she gasped for breath. Her feet thrashed a few inches above the ground and her fingers clawed into his hand as she struggled for escape, but his long, thin fingers had a hidden strength that many did not expect.

"Who sent you here?" he demanded, glaring at her with such hatred. He despised nothing more than he did a traitor and this little girl had been the worst of all. Had he been able to use his wand, he would have used the Killing Curse without difficulty. Under the current circumstances, however, Voldemort was going to have to get his hands dirty.

"No one sent me here… I came by Portkey… just like you…" Luna replied, fighting for breath. Voldemort did not believe her, so he continued with his questioning.

"What do you and this other person want with me?" his hand squeezed tighter around her throat, and her face became as blue as the irises of her eyes.

"I d-don't… know… what you're… talking… about…" Luna struggled to voice her response, but she had little air left in her lungs. She pleaded with her eyes, willing him to see the truth within them.

Something flickered across Voldemort's expression, an emotion that gave her hope, and she inwardly smiled before sinking into darkness.

Voldemort lowered Luna's unconscious figure to the ground before turning back to the lens. He believed Luna, despite all evidence to the contrary, and wanted to know what she had done to be placed in the dungeon room with him. He could guess as to why he was trapped; many witches and wizards wanted him dead, but few were foolish enough to try to perform the task of killing him.

Something in Luna's eyes had convinced him of the validity of her claims. He had never been able to trust another soul, and to trust her was a huge development in his personality; so big, in fact, that he had a hard time putting faith in her.

He did not like what he had done to her, cutting off her air supply, bringing her so close to death. Had she been a spy, he would have felt justified in his actions. Something about Luna was changing him, slowly, until he could no longer recognize himself.

* * *

Luna awoke, hours later, with a sharp ache around her neck. Putting her fingers to her throbbing skin, she winced as she recalled the events that had caused the pain. Voldemort had believed her to be a spy for someone because the two of them had discovered a camera in the wall. Her heart ached for the man who could not trust, could not love, another. Hearing about his tragic past brought light to who the man standing before her had become. She wished to pull him into her arms and hug him until he realized that he was capable of receiving affection. She could not deny that she had felt her heart break when he described the seemingly unlovable child who lived so miserably, and turned to pain for comfort.

Luna, always so honest with herself, knew that she was beginning to develop feelings for Voldemort. Evil though he was, Voldemort was not entirely to blame for his actions. That he did not self-destruct in his childhood was a testament to his vitality.

"Have you ever felt sorry for the families of your victims?" she asked, needing to hear his answer, whatever it may be. "Have you felt sorry for taking someone else's life from them?"

Voldemort was taken aback. Never, in his seventy years of life, had he heard someone question whether he regretted his choices. He himself had never even considered the notion. He looked at Luna, studying the expression on her face. As per usual, she looked to be deep in thought, as though her ideas required constant supervision.

"Never," he replied, "because their deaths had to occur for me to ensure my survival."

Luna blinked once, twice, three times before she replied, "Isn't that a bit ironic? That life had to end for you to live?"

"Irony aside, it was still necessary. Now I must speak to you about an idea that I had while contemplating our current situation." Voldemort slid closer to Luna and whispered in her ear, "I know the camera can record sound, but I don't know how strong it is. If we whisper, hopefully we can avoid the camera picking up our voices.

"The person seems to enter the room when we are asleep, so I say we pretend to sleep tonight, then when the person comes in we attack."

Luna considered this plan. "Sounds good in theory," she replied vaguely, "but maybe we should just observe tonight, then act when we have an idea of what we're up against."

Voldemort did not like his plans to be altered, but he could not argue her logic. "Very well, we shall simply observe tonight."

Luna studied Voldemort for a while longer, and as she did so, her neck ceased to throb in pain. She opened her mouth to speak, but Voldemort spoke first. "About what I had told you," he began, "concerning my childhood, I am not glad that I confessed so much. However, I find it hard to regret telling you, specifically."

Luna knew that was the best form of praise she could expect from this man. She leaned forward, in excruciating slowness, until her lips met his cheek for a swift peck. Jerking her body back to its original position, Luna rose to a standing position and traveled to the food in the corner. Voldemort felt an electric shock where her lips made contact with his skin, and unfamiliar warmth seeped into his face and moved through his limbs. He knew not of this type of magic, was sure that magic could not even be performed within the room, but there was no other word to describe the instant transformation of his body.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he moved in the direction of the food once Luna vacated to her corner of the room. Choosing grapes and carrots, Voldemort went to his respective corner and ate his meal.


	6. The Malfoy Supremacy

Darkness descended upon the space and Luna settled onto the floor to prepare for her phony siesta. Relaxing her body, she peered at Voldemort through partially closed eyes. She had not looked at him since her peck on his cheek, so she did not know his reaction to the act. Voldemort returned her gaze with a burning one of his own. Luna initially mistook the fire in his expression to anger, but upon closer inspection she realized that it was heat of a different sort— desire. A shiver stole down her spine, and she played it off as a quiver of chilliness. A slight smirk flashed across her face before she closed her eyes and sunk into her performance.

Two hours after Voldemort had shifted into a forced sleeping position, they felt a slight breeze enter the room. Voldemort opened his eyes a fraction of the way and scanned the room in its entirety. The breeze had entered the room through the ceiling, where a large square of brick was splitting down the middle and sliding open to create a hole large enough for a person to enter. A man did enter, sliding down a rope with a large pouch secured at his waist. His silvery blonde hair swayed slightly during his descent and his robes billowed around him. Landing on the floor without a sound, he set about placing the food from the pouch in the same corner he always put it. He placed the jug of water and empty goblet next to the food, then unscrewed a small bottle and poured what must have been Veritaserum into the jug. He surveyed his surroundings, and that is when Voldemort recognized the man— Lucius Malfoy.

Burning anger raged within Voldemort, enough for him to explode and tear Lucius limb from limb; he refrained, however, because of the plan he had devised with Luna. Never before had he considered another person's life or opinions, but he was coming to value hers as much as his own. He had abstained from attacking Lucius because he feared that Luna would be injured in the process, a decision that terrified him.

Lucius climbed the rope, pulling it up once he reached the safety of the top. He walked away from the hole, and a moment later, the ceiling began to close. His presence lingered a few hours longer, reminding Voldemort how close he had been to retribution and to freedom.

Voldemort finally drifted into an uneasy sleep, knowing that he could not discuss his discoveries with Luna until morning. As he slept, he dreamt of the faces of every person he had killed in his lifetime, each vision followed by one of the families that were left behind. It was the first dream Voldemort had in over forty years, and he would remember it until the day he died.


	7. Remorse Management

Luna awoke to find a very troubled-looking Voldemort, who was staring into space as though deep in thought. She moved to his side, hesitantly placing a hand on his shoulder and alerting him to her presence. He looked down at her, an odd gleam to his red eyes.

"You asked me yesterday if I felt sorry for the murders I've committed. Yesterday I told you I didn't. I wasn't lying yesterday, but if I were to give the same answer today, I would be." He shook his head, looking haunted.

"You feel sorry for the lives you took?" Luna replied, not believing what she was hearing.

"I do." Voldemort was thrown onto his back as an invisible force slammed into his middle. His head cracked onto the floor with a resounding _smack! _and his face became blank. A thin trickle of blood seeped from under his skull and traveled along an indent in the floor.

Luna rushed to his side, pulling off her robes as she went. Left in her skirt and button-up shirt, she lifted his head with infinite delicacy and placed her robe under it. She checked his eyes, but they were unresponsive. After further inspection, she concluded that his breathing was shallow and his heartbeat was faint. His forehead was blazing with the heat of a fever, so she ripped off one of the sleeves of her shirt and dipped it in the water, placing the cool fabric on his forehead to help with the burning. Not knowing what else she could do to aid him, Luna did what felt most natural to her— worrying.

Three days passed, and Luna did whatever she could to help him heal. She kept her sleeve damp and on his forehead, her robes under his skull, and made sure to pour a little water into his mouth so he did not dehydrate.

The most remarkable changes were happening to Voldemort as he lay unconscious: his skin was gaining color, his nose was growing outward, and black hair was growing atop his head, threaded with silver. He was becoming more human, though Luna had no idea how such a feat was possible. Magic was not allowed inside the room, but it was happening before her very eyes.

Finally, in the early hours of the fourth morning, Voldemort stirred. Luna leapt to her knees and looked down at his face, checking to make sure he was alright. In the days that she had taken care of him, Luna had plenty of time to recall the moments they had shared together. She concluded that, despite his firm beliefs, she loved him. She loved how he became so strong despite his damaged past, that he could still be a whole person with a broken soul, that he trusted her above all others. She loved that his favorite candy was Bertie Bott's Every-Flavor Beans, even though he could not taste anything; he enjoyed the surprises they held within.

Voldemort's eyes fluttered open— his _brown _eyes, no longer blood red. He looked at Luna and a small smile appeared on his lips, fuller since his transformation, and there was a happy shine to his pupils.

"Welcome back," Luna said, unable to contain the tears filling her eyes or the hysteric laughter bubbling from behind her lips, "I've been worried about you."

"Sorry to keep you waiting," he replied, his voice containing a deeper baritone undercurrent. He smiled, a full smile stretching his lips to either side of his face. "While I was gone I had been thinking of you. About everything, really, but of you especially."

He struggled to a sitting position, the back of his head throbbing slightly. Recognizing the change in his voice, he inspected the rest of his body. He held his hands in front of him, noticing the pinkish tint to the skin. Feeling his face, his fingertips bumped the pointed nose where only slits had been before. His fingers moved upward, where he encountered thin eyebrows, and farther north to where there was a full head of thick hair. He was astonished by the changes in his appearance, and looked to Luna for answers.

"You've been unconscious for about four days, and I have no idea how you transformed the way you did. How do you feel?" Luna looked at Voldemort as though the answer was going to appear on his forehead.

"Better. Whole," he replied, meaning every word. "You gave me water with the Veritaserum, didn't you?"

Luna's eyes widened as she vaguely replied, "Of course I did, you would have died without it, and I wasn't going to let that happen."

Voldemort thought about her answer, concluding that she had to give him the liquid. He gazed into her eyes, the dreamy orbs dancing with light. His transformation had been painful, as though he had swallowed a gallon of Polyjuice Potion, but there was comforting warmth that accompanied it. Voldemort had an inkling of what had happened to him, but he was not sure he was ready to accept that particular truth. If his soul had reassembled, it meant he was as vulnerable as any mortal being, and he had a hard time accepting that notion. But as he looked at Luna, a girl who lived each day without fear of her life ending, he gained confidence in his survival. If he were ever successful in breaking free of his prison, that is.

"I say we execute our plan of escape tonight, now that I'm fully recovered," he said to Luna, leaning towards her in excitement.

A flicker of something— disappointment?— flashed across her features, but she quickly masked it before smiling at him. "Sounds good to me," she replied.

In that moment, Voldemort thought Luna was beautiful. It was possibly a trick of the light, or disorientation from the knot in the back of his head, but Voldemort could not stop believing in her beauty. He leaned forward, cautiously, and placed a soft kiss upon her lips. She reacted, applying more pressure, and Voldemort erupted. He slid his arms around her waist, noting that his skin was no longer cold enough to cause her to shiver. She tangled her hands in his hair, angling her head for deeper contact. She slid her tongue along his lips, silently asking permission for entrance.

Voldemort's lips parted, but he was unsure of what to do next. He had never actually kissed someone before, and he was nervous about proceeding. But when Luna's tongue swooped into his mouth, he stopped worrying. Her taste— _taste_, something he never believed he would experience again— enveloped him, drawing him closer to her. Their tongues danced in rhythm, swooping and twisting to their owners' silent music.

Luna pulled back, placing a small kiss on his lips before retreating to her personal space. Voldemort smiled, excited about the events that had just taken place. The kiss had told him things he was afraid to believe, but thrilled at the same time. He felt affection in her lips, desire on her tongue, and he was sure he had reciprocated the same to her. Voldemort must have gained the pieces of his soul, because he could not feel emotions as pure as these with only a portion of his soul inside his body.

Luna's dreamy voice drifted in his direction as she said, "I was struggling with whether or not I should tell you this, but as it's our last night in the room, I feel it's appropriate. Voldemort, Tom, whatever you're answering to now, I love you. I realized it as you were lying unconscious, and though I know you believe you are incapable of being loved, I do love you."

Voldemort's heart swelled as he heard these words. It was painful to have emotions such as these, but it was a good ache. He searched his soul to give the appropriate response. "That makes me happy," he replied, "and I am glad to know that I have experienced love in my lifetime. I don't know if I'm capable of giving love in return, but I do feel… something… for you: affection and fondness, and quite a bit of desire. That may be as close to love as I can get."

"I didn't expect anything in return, honestly, but I appreciate it. Receiving anything that you're able to give is special enough for me," she responded.

They gazed at each other a moment more, then set about getting ready to execute their operation. As they lay down, they could not resist peeking at each other during moments in the night. Luna was content with her love for Voldemort, and Voldemort was thankful that she did not demand of him something he was unsure he could give.


	8. The Truth Shall Set You Free

Page | 2

Hours passed, and Luna and Voldemort lay in wait for Lucius Malfoy to descend. Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, the ceiling split open and Lucius descended into the chamber. As he leaned over to place the food on the ground, Voldemort swiftly rose and made his way over to the captor, careful to make no noise. Luna rose, too, and moved to position herself behind Lucius, ready to remove his wand from his possession. Voldemort dove at Lucius just as he was placing the turkey on the serving platter. Luna leapt to the wizard pile, sliding Lucius' wand from the pocket in his robes and tucking it behind her left ear for safekeeping.

"Bloody hell!" Lucius shouted, howling in pain when Voldemort's body pushed his to the ground.

Voldemort wrestled with Lucius, struggling to turn him on his back. Luna grabbed the goblet of water and forced some of the liquid down Lucius' throat. Sputtering, Lucius looked from Luna to Voldemort, terror etched across his features.

"Why did you trap us here?" Voldemort demanded of Lucius.

"I— I needed you out of the way, My Lord. I feared for my family's safety and knew that, with you in a location you could not escape, they could live in peace," Lucius rushed to deliver his answer. "I knew I couldn't kill you, no one is capable of that, so I put you someplace where magic is useless. The girl's arrival was a fluke, one I couldn't repair without risking your escape. She must've picked up one of the Portkeys you managed to avoid."

_The Bertie Bott's bag_, Luna thought to herself, recalling his favorite candy.

"And where are we, exactly?" Voldemort asked, barely containing the rage in his voice.

"A place where dreams are crushed and magic cannot survive, My Lord— Los Angeles, California, a city in the United States." Lucius trembled with fear, knowing his time was short.

Luna placed a hand on Voldemort's shoulder, silently pleading with him to let Lucius live. Voldemort released Lucius, getting to his feet and seizing Lucius by his upper arm.

"Luna, you climb the rope first. Lucius will go next, and I will quickly follow," Voldemort said, nodding towards the rope that dangled from the gap in the ceiling. Luna walked to the rope, grabbing it and pulling herself up. She struggled from weakness, not exercising her body in a while.

When she finally reached the top, Voldemort pushed Lucius towards the rope and directed him to begin climbing. When Lucius finished his ascent, he dashed away from the hole. Voldemort climbed the rope as quickly as he could, but by the time he reached the opening, he realized he had nothing to worry about. Luna had tackled Lucius and was currently straddling his back, pinning his arms to the ground with her knees. She smirked at Voldemort, satisfied with her accomplishment.

Voldemort pulled Luna to her feet, then the each grabbed one of Lucius' arms and heaved him to a standing position. Not knowing where they were, Voldemort asked Lucius, "Which way will take us to the border of this city?"

Lucius replied, "We're near the edge; I couldn't risk being too far from the border. Just go west about thirty yards and you'll feel the magic reenter your body." He pointed to the west, then collapsed into shivers of terror. Luna and Voldemort dragged him to the border, and they felt the magic coursing through their veins as they crossed the boundary.

"What will you do with him now?" Luna asked, looking at Voldemort with a contemplative expression.

Voldemort thought about this for a moment; normally he would torture Lucius for a time, finally granting him the mercy of death and washing his hands of the traitor. Inside the dungeon, however, Voldemort had become a completely different person. He valued death more highly than before, especially since he was now susceptible to it himself.

"I'll modify his memory; that way he can't remember this foolish plan, but he's still able to be with his family. I learned a few things about family while in that room, and I'm not soon to forget them," he replied.

Voldemort drew his wand from his pocket, thought _Obliviate_, and erased Lucius' memory as far back as a few months before he and Luna were transported to the room. The he implanted a memory of serving Voldemort, doing all of the menial tasks he should have been doing instead of trapping his leader. Lucius staggered off, Disapparating to Malfoy Manor so that he could perform the chores he believed needed to be executed.

"Now that that's taken care of," Voldemort said, "I believe we have unfinished business."

He turned to Luna, pulling her into his embrace and swooping down to place a lingering kiss on her lips. As he drew back, she smiled a smile that spoke volumes. There was a mixture of happiness, love, and sadness in her expression— she was very intuitive.

"You have to leave," she said. "I understand. I would do the same."

"Yes I do," Voldemort replied, "I have so many wrongs to right, and I have a lot of ground to cover if I'm going to fix everything in this lifetime. Though my soul is whole again, it doesn't feel fixed; I need to mend it if I am to die in peace."

Luna nodded, aware that their separation was necessary. "What should I call you?" she asked, wondering what alias he would adopt in this stage of his life.

"I'm not sure," he replied, pondering her question. "I'm no longer a Lord Voldemort, but Tom Riddle has never been right for me, either."

"I suppose You-Know-Who still applies," Luna said, smirking at the ridiculous nicknames the man had adopted through the ages.

"Yes, I suppose it does." He smiled at her, as a single tear traveled down his cheek.

"None of that now," Luna said dreamily, wiping the tear away with her thumb, "we had a good run, and I'll never forget the time we had together."

Voldemort's heart was breaking, ripping as surely as his soul had ripped whenever he created a Horcrux. But she had a point; he would have the memories of her and the time spent in the chamber. He pulled her in for one last hug, kissing the top of her head and reveling in her warmth one last time. He stepped back and said, "You know, I have a lot of business to take care of in Sweden, after I prepare for my journey I may make that my first stop."

Luna beamed at him, excited at the prospect of seeing him one last time. "I'm supposed to be vacationing in Sweden, as I told you before. Maybe we'll meet again."

"I do hope so," Voldemort replied.

They memorized each other's faces one last time, then turned to go in their respective directions. Voldemort watched Luna move to a spot where she could Disapparate, her tangled blonde hair shining in the bright California sun. She turned on the spot, her mane swirling about her, and she was gone. Voldemort spun, thinking of his cottage in Albania, and feeling excitement at the thought of an excursion to Sweden.


End file.
